


Take Me Home Tonight

by Zerotheandroid



Category: Deadpool (Comics), Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man (Comicverse), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Choking, Drunk Sex, Drunken Kissing, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Face Slapping, First Meetings, Good Guy Wade Wilson, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pet Names, Peter Parker Angst, Peter Parker Has Issues, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker is a Mess, Protective Wade Wilson, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Sex, Wade Wilson Takes Care of Peter Parker, Wade Wilson has Self-Esteem Issues, Wade Wilson is just really kind in this story cause that's how I like writing him, all the pet names, just tagging so no one reads anything they don't want to, more like drunk making out, nothing bad happens in the story but what Peter wants is pretty fucked up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:53:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28187991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zerotheandroid/pseuds/Zerotheandroid
Summary: It's the anniversary of Uncle Ben's death, and Peter Parker is sick with guilt. He ends up in a shitty dive bar, intending to find the meanest drunk there and let them absolutely wreck him. He goes home with Wade Wilson, who looks the part of a cruel bastard. But what happens when Peter doesn't get the treatment he's expecting?
Relationships: Peter Parker/Wade Wilson
Comments: 16
Kudos: 313





	Take Me Home Tonight

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a weird little plot bunny I had in my head. It's kind of dark but it has a happy ending. Hopefully you enjoy.

Peter glared down at the date on his phone. It had been three years, and this day still hit him hard. He slumped on his stool, wrapping his fingers around the cool glass of his beer. 

It was the anniversary of his Uncle Ben’s death, and he was sitting in a shitty dive bar—Sal’s, he was pretty sure the name had been. He’d stumbled in with one thought in his head: get off his face on cheap liquor and go home with the meanest drunk he could find. 

The truth was, Peter couldn’t take the guilt. Normally it lived in the back of his mind, gently grating at him, but tonight, it was overwhelming, suffocating, crawling down the back of his neck and turning his stomach. And it only got worse the more drinks Peter poured down his throat. Peter stared at his warped reflection in the beer bottle, hating the sight. He felt like hot, slimy garbage, and he was filled with a sickening urge to be treated like it. 

Peter raised his eyes and searched the bar, looking for the scariest guy he could find. His blurry gaze fell on a man sitting at the end of the bar by himself. He was big, the biggest guy in the place, for sure. He had his hoodie pulled down low, but Peter could still see that his face was a mess of scars, his eyes cold as they stared down at his drink. 

The man looked like he could absolutely wreck him, and at the moment, that was exactly what Peter wanted. Standing clumsily, he approached the man. 

The man didn’t look up as Peter stepped closer. Even the man’s scent was intimidating, the acrid smell of gun smoke and cigarettes. Finally, Peter raised his hand and tapped the man on the shoulder softly. The man turned at Peter’s touch, looking Peter up and down with ice blue eyes. 

“Hey, handsome,” Peter said, his voice only slurring slightly. “Take me home?” 

The man screwed his face up in what seemed to be shock, staring back at Peter in silence for a long moment. “Well, shit. Either you’re a hallucination, or my night just got a hell of a lot better.” 

Peter pulled out a barstool and sat down beside the man before his knees could give out. “I’m real, I promise.” 

“So what’s your name, anyway?” The man was looking at Peter with interest bordering on suspicion, like he couldn’t believe Peter would give him the time of day. 

“Peter.” 

“Wade,” the other man said, extending a scarred hand. They shook. 

“So, Petey,” Wade paused to down the rest of his drink, “If I did take you home, what then?” 

Peter swallowed. He’d been hoping he’d find somebody to fuck him hard, maybe even smack him around a little, and Wade certainly looked the part. The possible dangers were nothing more than a fuzzy storm cloud in the back of his booze-soaked brain at this point. If he were sober, he probably could have talked himself out of this, but as drunk as he was, his self-hatred was winning the fight. “Whatever you want,” Peter answered finally. 

“Whatever I want, huh?” Wade drummed his fingers on the bar. “That’s a dangerous thing to offer a stranger, kid.” 

Peter stared back into Wade’s eyes, trying to tell what was lurking there. They had a soft, pale color, like the morning sky. Peter mentally shook himself. “I don’t really care.” 

Wade looked back at him for another long moment before he finally shrugged. “Well, fuck, I should probably be a little concerned about you, but an offer like that doesn’t exactly land in my lap every night of the week, so…” He reached into his pocket for his wallet, pulling out a few bills and laying them on the counter. “Let’s go. My apartment’s just down the street.” 

Peter followed Wade out the door and onto the snowy sidewalk, shivering in the cold and pulling his jacket tighter around himself. Wade walked fast, and Peter hurried to keep up. Wade seemed to notice, because he slowed his pace. 

“So, what’s got you drinking on a Wednesday?” Wade said. “If you don’t mind me asking.” 

“Just um,” Peter swallowed thickly, emotion welling up in his chest. “Just bored.” 

“I can take care of that for you, sweetheart.” Wade’s eyes twinkled a little in the glow of the streetlights. 

Peter chuckled mirthlessly. “Yeah, I’m counting on it.” 

They stopped in front of the door of a rundown apartment building. Wade punched in a code that unlocked the door, and then led Peter up a short flight of stairs and down a hallway. 

“This is me,” Wade said, fumbling with his keys in front of a door on the left. Peter waited while Wade unlocked it, threw the door open wide, and flipped on the light. “Sorry about the mess, I swear tomorrow is cleaning day.” 

Peter took a deep breath and stepped inside. It was messy, but that didn’t bother Peter much. What _did_ bother him was the gun lying on the couch, but Wade was already stepping inside and shutting the door behind them. 

He reached down and picked up the gun, setting it on a bookcase. “Sorry about that, uh, make yourself at home.” He gestured at the lumpy couch upholstered in a horrid paisley print and decorated with a collection of stains. “Can I get you anything? Glass of water, maybe? You look like you’re gonna have one hell of a hangover.” 

Peter dropped onto the couch. “Just yourself.” 

Wade paused, halfway into his kitchen, and turned back to regard Peter. “Alright,” he said, walking back over and sitting down beside him. He left a couple feet between them. “You sure you’re not too drunk for this?” 

“I’m fine.” Peter leaned forward, closing the distance. “Kiss me.” 

Wade wet his lips, raising a tentative hand to Peter’s face and running it over his cheek. He trailed his fingers down to thumb Peter’s bottom lip. There was a hunger in his eyes now, a glint of desperate want, and Peter’s breath came a little faster in his chest. This had been a terrible idea, but he was in it now, and even though his stomach was turning with fear, he still felt that sick urge to be used, to be hurt. He shut his eyes. 

He felt Wade lean closer, and then their lips met. 

The kiss was soft, and not at all what Peter had expected. Peter kissed him back, hard, slipping Wade’s lip between his teeth. Wade made a soft noise, his hand wrapping around the back of Peter’s neck and his tongue sliding into Peter’s mouth. 

This was more like it, but there was still a strange hesitancy about Wade, his hand on Peter’s neck light rather than grasping, his tongue gentle rather than demanding. Peter pulled away for a moment to swing a leg over Wade, sitting on his lap and grinding against him. 

Wade’s mouth fell open, another soft noise escaping him. “Ah, shit, Petey,” his voice was husky, his chest rising and falling rapidly. “You really know what you want, don’t you?” 

Peter pushed Wade’s hood back and leaned down to whisper in his ear. “I want you out of these clothes.” He nipped Wade’s earlobe, and then kissed his way down Wade’s neck, sucking and biting. 

Wade groaned a little, reaching his hands down to grab the bottom of his hoodie, pulling it off, along with his shirt, and throwing them onto the floor. Peter ran his hands over the scarred expanse of muscle in front of him. Fuck, Wade was strong. The fact scent a shiver of fear down Peter’s spine, but he wasn’t backing down now. He shook his mixed up head to clear it, his hands fumbling with Wade’s belt buckle. 

Wade was reaching for Peter’s jacket. “Can I…?” 

“Go ahead.” 

Wade pulled the jacket off of him, setting it beside them on the couch. His hands slid down Peter’s chest to the hem of his shirt, where they hesitated again. 

“Take it off.” Peter was breathing hard now. Wade’s hands on his body actually felt pretty good, and as gentle as he was, he was a decent kisser. Better than decent, if Peter were being honest.

Wade pulled off Peter’s shirt and laid it atop the jacket, his big arms wrapping around Peter and pulling him in towards himself, his mouth finding Peter’s neck. Peter felt a soft gasp escape him, and he ground down harder against Wade, his fingers gripping Wade’s shoulders, slipping across the textured scars and coiled muscles. Now that they were this close, Peter could smell something else beneath the smoke, a hint of Wade’s natural scent. It smelled like burnt cookies and spiced rum. Peter leaned forward, burying his face in Wade’s neck for a moment. 

Wade kissed his way down Peter’s chest to his nipple, swirling his tongue. Peter arched his back, breathing raggedly, heat gathering in his stomach. He blinked and pulled away. He hadn’t come here to enjoy himself, he’d had a very specific idea of how the evening was going to go. And maybe this was just Wade warming up, but even if it was, Peter was going to give him a push. 

Wade’s hands had stilled, he was looking up at Peter curiously. 

Peter took one of Wade’s wrists and guided the hand to his own throat. “I like it rough,” he said, his voice sounding strangely distant to his ears. 

Wade’s fingers closed around his neck. “You want me to choke you?” he asked, sounding wary. 

“Yeah. You could hit me, too, if you wanted.” 

“You’re pretty drunk, kid, you sure that’s a good idea?” 

“You’re drunk too. Hit me.” 

Wade raised the hand that had been around Peter’s neck. He slapped Peter, gently. 

“Harder,” Peter gritted out. 

Wade slapped him again, a little harder than the last but still so softly that Peter barely felt a tingle against his cheek. 

Maybe Peter just needed to turn him on some more, he decided. He leaned back onto the couch, pulling Wade on top of him and fumbling for Wade’s belt buckle again. Wade was kissing Peter’s neck and chest, and his lips and tongue and teeth were incredibly distracting. 

Wade pulled away for a moment. “Wanna go to the bed? I do have a bed. I mean it’s a mattress, on the floor, but still...probably better than a couch.” 

“Or you could fuck me right here.” Peter’s voice was a shaky whisper. Wade’s buckle finally came apart in Peter’s hands, and he unbuttoned Wade’s pants with clumsy fingers, pulling them down off his hips. He slipped his hand beneath Wade’s boxers and grabbed Wade’s half-hard dick with shaky fingers, jerking him off. 

Wade bucked slightly against his hand, his lips parting, his gaze locked with Peter’s. “You--you sure about this, baby?” 

“I’m sure.” Peter pulled off his own pants and underwear through the tangle of their legs, leaving himself naked. 

Wade’s hands slid down Peter’s sides and across his thighs. Peter could feel his legs trembling. He felt exposed now, chills rising on his skin even though the room was warm. His eyes found Wade’s, desperately trying to guess what the man was going to do next. 

Wade was looking intently at Peter, his pale blue eyes narrowed slightly in concern, his brow furrowed. He ran a hand over Peter’s forehead, wiping his sweaty bangs out of his eyes. “Baby, you’re shaking.” 

Peter swallowed, hard. “I’m, uh…” He wasn’t sure what he was. Wade’s gentleness had his head all mixed up. He’d come here to be treated like shit; was this really the worst Wade had to offer? Soft touches and kind words? He stared back into Wade’s eyes. They seemed less icy now, a warmth Peter hadn’t noticed before sparkling there in the light. 

Wade was stroking his cheek softly. “Do you need space?” 

Peter shook his head. He had no idea what he needed. And he was way, way too drunk, the room spinning a little and his stomach twisting. He felt bile rising in his throat and desperately tried to swallow it back down, sitting up and putting his head in his hands. He didn’t know what Wade would do if Peter puked on his couch, but he was guessing it wouldn’t be pretty. He was unsuccessful though, as another wave of nausea hit him, and he leaned forward and spit up a mess of alcohol. 

Most of it landed on his own chest, but some of it had splattered on Wade, Peter realized with horror. He reached out a shaky hand to try and wipe some of the puked whiskey off of Wade’s pecs. 

“I-I’m so sorry…” 

“Shh, shh, it’s okay, baby boy. Let’s get you cleaned up, c’mon.” Wade’s strong arms were wrapping beneath his, pulling him off the couch and helping him stumble to the bathroom. Peter grabbed for the sink, his hand landing on spilled toothpaste and...bullet casings? Before he could turn that over in his addled brain he was leaning over and puking again, into the sink this time. He felt Wade’s hand on his back, making slow, soothing circles. Wade wet a washcloth and turned Peter around slowly to clean him off. 

Peter took a shaky breath, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “I’m _so_ sorry, I guess I drank too much…” 

“It’s okay,” Wade said, rinsing the rag in the sink. “Honestly, most people puke when they see me shirtless, I don’t blame you.” 

Peter shook his head, leaning back against the wall. “It’s not you, I’m sorry, I just...” 

Wade looked up; their eyes locked in the mirror. “What is it?” He dropped the rag into the sink and turned back. 

“It’s just, like I said, I just drank too much, I…” 

Wade’s hand came up to cradle Peter’s face again. “What is it, sweetheart?” 

Peter’s eyes were welling up with tears. He looked away, feeling something inside him snap, all his guilt and self-hatred bubbling up to the surface. “My uncle’s dead. It’s my fault. He raised me, and that’s the thanks he gets. He’s dead because of me.” 

“Woah, baby, unless you pulled the trigger yourself, that’s a lot of guilt to be carrying around.” 

“I might as well have.” Peter felt sobs rising in his chest. “I hate myself for it. So fucking much.” 

“Sweetheart, I...I doubt he’d want you to hate yourself.” 

Peter pulled away and dropped his head into his hands. Wade was right, this whole night, the guilt, Peter trying to punish himself, it was the last thing Ben would want, but Peter couldn’t help it. He had too much scorching self-hatred inside and it had nowhere to go. Peter’s shoulders shook with sobs, tears rolling down through his fingers and falling onto the dirty linoleum. 

Wade reached out, hesitantly at first, and then his arms wrapped firmly around Peter, pulling him forward and holding him against his chest. Wade was practically a stranger, but Peter desperately needed comfort, at the moment, and so he allowed himself to be held, collapsing against Wade and crying his heart out against the man’s shoulder. 

Eventually, Peter’s sobs began to slow, and he pulled away, wiping at his face with his fingers. He grabbed the towel hanging on the rack behind him and attempted to dry the wet spot on Wade’s bare shoulder. “As if puke wasn’t enough, now I got snot on you too…” 

Wade chuckled softly, taking the towel from Peter’s hands and wiping off his chest with it. “It’s alright, baby boy. We all have rough nights sometimes.” 

Peter shoved the heels of his hands into his eyes. “You’ve been so nice to me, I can’t thank you enough, I’m sorry, for screwing up your night…” 

“Petey, I got to make out with a hot guy, my night is _so_ far from screwed.” 

“We...we could still have sex, if you wanted…” Peter knew he probably looked a disgusting mess, but after how kind Wade had been, he felt like he sort of owed him. 

“Is that what you want?” 

“No,” Peter said. “But I did promise you anything you wanted. I doubt this is what you had in mind.” 

Wade sighed heavily, leaning back against his sink. “Alright, I’ll admit, this isn’t what was running through my head, but I also want you to be okay.” 

“You don’t even know me.” 

“I know you’re going through something. And I don’t know how much I can help, but I’ll do my best.” 

Peter wiped his nose again, sniffing. “I...I’m sorry, Wade. I misjudged you.” 

Wade was silent. 

Peter stared at the floor, noticing more bullet casings. He wet his lips. “In all honesty, I felt like shit, and I was looking for someone to treat me like it.” 

There was a long moment of silence before Wade spoke. “And I guess I look the part, don’t I?” Wade made a soft noise under his breath. “I knew you didn’t pick me for my looks, but...damn.” 

Peter forced himself to meet Wade’s pained eyes. “I was dead wrong, though. You’re like...the nicest guy I’ve ever gone home with.” 

Wade chewed on his lip for a moment, regarding Peter. “You’re free to leave, you know, if you want to.” 

Peter swallowed. “Do you want me to go?” 

There was another long moment of silence. “No,” Wade said softly. “If you wanted to, you could spend the night. It is...it is pretty late.” 

“I’d like that. As long as I’m not putting you out…” 

Wade sighed and clapped Peter on the arm. “Not at all, Petey. I’ll take the couch.” Wade turned to step out of the bathroom, but Peter reached up to touch his shoulder. 

“We could...we could share the bed, if you...if you wanted.” 

Wade turned back. “You just admitted you only came home with me because you thought I’d treat you like garbage, maybe even hurt you, and now you wanna share a bed?” 

The words stung like a slap in the face. Peter lowered his gaze to the floor again. “I just don’t want to be alone, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be a bother though, I can take the couch.” 

Wade took a long, deep breath and let it out again. “Sharing a bed with your cute ass is no bother, I’m just...just surprised you wanna get near me, I guess.” 

“I told you, you’re like the nicest guy I’ve ever met. And you smell good.” Peter bit his lip, wishing he could take the words and shove them back in his mouth. He blamed the alcohol. 

“Well, I might be the ugliest motherfucker on the planet, but I like to think my personality is on point. And apparently I smell good.” There was a hint of a smile in Wade’s voice now. 

“And when we were making out, I liked it. Like, a lot. I’m just, um, really messed up in the head tonight, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I misjudged you, Wade. Can you forgive me?” Peter forced himself to meet Wade's gaze again. 

Wade was looking at him strangely, but there was a hint of fondness in his eyes. “Yeah, Petey, I can forgive you. C’mon, let’s get you to bed.” 

Wade led Peter into his room, which was equally messy and littered with weapons. Peter wasn’t even going to ask, at this point. He crawled beneath the comforter, still naked but too drunk to care. A few moments later, Wade was shoving a glass of water against his face. 

“Wake up and drink this. You’ll thank me tomorrow.” 

Peter obliged him. Wade turned the light out and laid down next to him, leaving a couple feet of space between them once again. Hesitantly, Peter closed the distance, curling up against Wade’s side. 

“Is this...is this okay?” 

Wade wrapped an arm around him, tugging him closer. “That’s better than okay, baby boy.” 

Peter laid his head on Wade’s shoulder, and before he knew it, he was asleep. 

**Author's Note:**

> It's up to you how Uncle Ben died in this universe and why Peter thinks it's his fault. It's also up to you what happens in the morning, but in my head Wade totally makes Peter hangover breakfast and they totally end up dating. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, tell me what you thought?


End file.
